


The Other Side: Part Nine

by PiscesPenName



Series: The Other Side Series [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anti-Possession Tattoos, Dean-Centric, F/M, Hurt Dean Winchester, Medical Kink, Nurses, Oral Sex, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 14:45:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11420184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PiscesPenName/pseuds/PiscesPenName
Summary: Dean reveals a little bit about what is troubling him and opens up to Carrie.Not a lot of smut here. A lot of feels.





	The Other Side: Part Nine

 

"So why nurses?" Carrie asked, eating her kabob. 

 Dean shrugged. "Dunno."

 "Oh come on."

 "I don't analyze my kinks, Carrie." Dean said shoving a chunk of chicken into his mouth.

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. More things to think about I guess." He paused chewing and looked at her. "Why do women have to over analyze everything?"

"Because we have thoughts beyond what sports team is winning and who has the nicer rack."

He took a swig of beer. "That's not fair. We have thoughts too. My brother freaking over thinks everything." 

Carrie started in on her coke and stared at the fire.

Dean looked up at her, the dim light starting to play off the angles of his face. "Spent a lot of time in hospitals." He said.

That caught her attention. "What?"

"My family's line of work, you get hurt. Comes with the territory."

She felt badly for him. "Oh."

"You feel like shit and you're bored and hurtin and then a pretty girl comes in and gives you pain meds and fusses over you." Dean took another drink. "When I was about 15... I got hurt real bad on a hunt. Dad took me in to the hospital but he couldn't stay the whole time. He left and I was so scared."

She studied him, feeling so badly. "What happened to you?"

He shrugged. "Rawhead broke my ribs and my collarbone."

"What the hell is a Rawhead?"

Dean waved her off. "Nothing to worry about."

"Sounds like something to worry about."

"Carrie. Don't waste your energy." He took another drink. "There were some nurses there. Really pretty." He looked away.

"What?" She asked.

He looked embarrassed for a moment then covered it with another sip of beer. "She held my hand for an hour. Talked to me." He kicked the dirt with the toe of his boot. "She had to be all up in my business too." He snorted. "One of my first experiences with my pants off with a girl and it's with a medical professional." He caught her eye. "Man, haven't thought about any of this much since it happened."

"Well its not hard to figure out where your kink came from." Carrie said, picturing how young and alone Dean must have felt. 

He shrugged. "Yeah I guess. Always thought it was just a common fantasy."

"It is." She put her paper plate down.

Dean had finished his meal and sucked the juice off his finger.

She sensed that it was hard for him to open up about things as usual.  "I'm sorry you got hurt."

 "Oh don't do that," he said. "Don't feel sorry for me. I friggin hate that."

She gave him a smirk. "Bet that nurse felt sorry for you. Bet you were all big eyes and charm."

"Hey, I was hurting." He said defensively. 

 "I know you were." She stood up and crossed the gap between them, pulled Dean's head into her breasts from his sitting position. "I'll wear my uniform later if you want."

 He nuzzled into her.

She held him and looked at the fire. "You want me to get up in your business until you orgasm?"

He groaned into her skin. "Yeah."

 "I can do that." She kissed the top of his head. She wondered if he'd ever slept with a nurse. Wondered who he'd slept with since he'd been with her. She tried not to think about it. 

 He seemed off, tired still.

"What's wrong?" She asked.

"Nothin," he said, shaken by the change of subject. 

 "Don't tell me nothing or I'm pushing you in the water trough over there." She said, playfully. 

 Dean looked over to it.  "Why the hell is that there?"

 "For horses."

 "No horses here."

 "Not now. There were at some point obviously."

Dean leant back into her and sighed. It felt like a release of stress. She massaged his scalp and he sighed gratefully. 

 "I missed you," she whispered.  

 "Mmmm. Me too." He said into her chest. 

 "Talk to me." She said. 

 He looked up at her. "Nothin to talk about."

 "Okay." She said with an eye roll.

"Look, Carrie. I come here to de-stress. And if my life is stressing me and I talk about it then I'm more stressed."

There was a certain logic to it. "It should help you relieve stress to talk."

 "Well it doesn't work that way." He paused, kissed her stomach over the cotton shirt. "Want to be in you," he said.

"You just were."

"Never enough times, baby." He gripped her ass through her jeans and pulled her into his face, rubbed his cheek against her.

He seemed eager again. Truth is, she wanted him again already herself. 

 "You have a very high sex drive," she told him.

"Tell me something I didn't know. "

 She wanted to tell him she loved him. Settled for "I think about you a lot too."

 "C'mere." He pulled her onto his lap so that she was straddling him and kissed her with that same desperate enthusiam. Like he was in the desert and she was a glass of cold water.

She let him and then he was scrabbling to pull her shirt off. It was over her head and he had his thumb on her bra clasp, slipping it free before she had a chance to catch her breath. 

 He peeled off his shirt and ink from a tattoo caught her eye in the waning sunlight. She put her arm over her breasts and pulled back just a little. "What's that?" she asked.

"Huh?" He panted, having to pull his focus away from his sexual thoughts.

"Is that a tattoo?"

 He blinked, trying to pull his brain out of his pants to form a coherent thought. "Yeah."

 He studied her face. "You don't like it?"

 She shook her head. 

 "Most chicks dig it, " he said, starting forward to kiss her again. She kissed him distractedly and he pulled her bra down off her shoulders and tossed it sideways. 

He stopped kissing her and looked up. "You're really that pissed about it?" 

She shook her head. "I'm just..."

 He wiped his hand over his face. "Disgusted, apparently." 

 "No," she replied. 

He guided her off his lap so that he could stand. He went for his shirt and she touched his bicep to stop him.

He looked at her. 

 "Just give me a minute," she said. 

"Why is it bothering you?" He asked. 

 "I thought you were perfect the way you were." 

"The bumper sticker on the Porsche thing," he said dismissively, grabbing his tee. 

 "Yeah." 

 "Well, this sticker was necessary." He pulled his shirt over his head. 

 "Dean, don't be mad." 

 "Not mad," he said curtly. 

 "Yes, you are." 

 His jaw tightened. "Not mad, Carrie. Just feel like crap now." 

 "Dean. Come on." She said, still topless. "I'm sorry. I'm not good at covering how I feel. It shocked me. It wasn't there before and now it is."  

"You're acting weird this trip," he said. 

She was? He was the one being strange. "You are," she said back. 

"Okay, yeah." He straightened his bunched up hem. 

Carrie felt a surge of frustration. She didn't know how to handle him and all the hurt feelings and anger toward her for his perceived rejection. She figured she had to show him that it was in his mind. That she still wanted him. 

 "Don't," she said and stepped forward, the firelight and shadow playing off her breasts. She saw Dean's eyes follow them reluctantly. She walked up to him. His posture was stiff and rigid under her hand as she placed it over his chest. 

He looked at her silently. She took the fabric of the tee in her hands and slipped her palm underneath it. Ran it up to where his tattoo was, her touch soft against his skin. She pulled the tee up and leaned down to plant a few kisses on his toned stomach. He jumped under her lips. Her hands went to his belt and she dropped to her knees. He groaned and closed his eyes. She snaked her hands around the back of him to take a firm hold of each buttock and give it a hard squeeze. He grunted and shifted his weight and looked down.

Her hands went to his belt and started to unclasp it. She could see the bulge in his pants growing more pronounced with the passing minutes. 

 "Carrie," he whispered. "You don't have to do this." 

 "I know that." 

 She parted his fly and pulled him out of his pants. He was thick and warm, firm in her grip. He cried out when she took him into her mouth.  

 

* * *

 

Dean stirred restlessly and Carrie watched him. He'd fallen asleep again after they'd come inside from dinner and a blow job. This version had gone far more successfully than her first attempt. She felt ridiculously accomplished, as if she'd overcome a hurdle. She was sure she hadn't done well, but there was no choking or gagging involved, which was a win in her book. And she had soothed over Dean's fragile ego.  

He'd come in, collapsed on the foam bed while she cleaned up the remnants of dinner and was out cold when she'd come in. 

 His leg moved a little, kicked out a bit and he moved his head sideways, worry creasing his handsome brow. He fisted the sheets, mumbled something. 

 Carrie knelt down to wake him. He thrashed a bit. "Sam," he muttered. 

 "Dean," she whispered. 

He thrashed again. "Sammy."

He jerked like a sleeping dog, a twitching spasm running through his frame. He whimpered lowly, his respiration increasing. Something told her not to wake him by touching him. That he might lash out at her if she did. 

"Baby." She said. 

His face twitched and he gasped, those perfect lips parting.

"Baby." 

Dean jerked awake, sat up wide eyed. His breaths were panting and frantic.

"Hey," she said, waiting for him to pull focus. 

He seemed disoriented until she leaned forward and cupped his face in her hands. "It's okay, sweetheart." 

"C...carrie?" He asked lowly. 

"Yes." She whispered, leaning forward and kissing his cheek. 

He closed his eyes, still clearly shaken by the dream, his jaw tight. He kept so much tension in his jaw.

"I'm here." She whispered. "Lie down, I'm right here."

Dean fell back to flop against the soft pile of pillows and sleeping bags. 

She shifted to lay next to him and pulled his head into her bosom. 

Dean melted into her warmth. His arms went around her. 

"Shhhhh." She whispered, running her fingers through his hair. 

It was soft and textured.

He was so warm. He ran a lot hotter than she did. His t-shirt had damp spots from sweat under his arms and between his pecs. He breathed deeply, and to her surprise, she could tell he was under again, dozing lightly in her arms. 

She felt a gentle maternal affection for him as she held him. He was such a good man. But so stressed this trip. Something must have happened that had shaken him. 

Even in her arms, Dean's sleep grew fitful and she had to stroke him and tell him he was okay. He would calm for a bit and then the leg would flex involuntarily and he'd give a low groan and she knew he was slipping into someplace unsafe in his mind. 

Once he jolted awake with a cry. 

Carrie was startled herself with the urgency of it. "Baby, what's wrong?" 

He shook his head.

"Hey." She brushed his temple. "Don't shut me out. What's wrong?"

He shook his head again and swallowed.

"Hey." She said, putting her lips to the crown of his head and smelling his unwashed hair. He smelled like woodsmoke and fresh air and a hint of whatever gel he used to style it. "You're safe. It's me. It's okay." 

"I'm not safe." He mumbled. 

"Yes you are," she said. "We're out here together. You're with me. You're safe."

"We didn't get there in time this hunt." He whispered so lowly she hardly heard him. 

"What?" 

"Me and Sammy. We..." he broke off. "There was a little girl."

She watched a tear track down the side of his face and his nostrils flare. 

"Oh, Dean."

He swallowed thickly and put an arm over his eyes. She sat up next to him and put her hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I..." he swallowed again and his voice was a bit higher and more pinched sounding than she'd heard it before. It made him sound young. "She was just a baby and... this job. I...my whole life I wanted to do nothin but hunt. But it's hard. It's so much harder without Dad. Just me and Sammy out there and..." he choked off his sentence. 

She kept her hand on him. "I know it's hard." She said softly, her heart going out to him. "Was this recently?"

He nodded. "Last hunt." 

"Where's Sam?"

Dean shrugged. "Somewhere in Michigan. I told him I needed and few days."

"You drove here from fucking Michigan?"

He shrugged and sat up. "Had to get away." He tossed off the covers and crawled to the cooler to get a drink, clad in his black t shirt and jeans. 

Part of her was elated that she'd come to mind when he'd needed someone. 

"Where is Sam?" She asked. 

"Back in Michigan. I'll meet up with him later in the week."

Dean stood up and popped the cap on the beer with his ring. He took a swig.

"You left Sam alone? Isn't he upset too?"

"I didn't leave Sam alone," Dean snapped, his tone so heated it took her aback. His face twisted. "He's an adult. I'm _always_ there when he needs me!"

She blinked and stood up herself. "Okay. I never said..."

"Don't put that on me!"

"Honey." She said, realizing she'd inadvertently hit a raw nerve. 

"I gotta take care of me once in awhile too, and I..."

"Okay. Dean. Okay. I get it."

The anger collapsed into something else, some desperate vulnerability in his eyes. He turned his back to her and set the beer down on the cooler. She approached him from behind and slipped her arms around him, pressed her cheek to the back of his shoulder, her hands on his pecs. 

"I'm... I'm losing it Carrie." He whispered, his head bowed. 

"You're under a ton of stress." She replied. "Anyone would lose it. Your job is tough. Losing your father is tough."

"I got overwhelmed and..." he paused and turned around in her arms, looked down at her. "I thought of you." 

"I'm here." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "I'm always here for you." 

"Carrie, I..." he seemed at a loss and she looked up at him. 

He shrugged. "God I'm just friggin tired." He wiped his hand over his eyes and stepped back. 

"Go back to bed, honey. It's okay. Just use the weekend to sleep." 

"I don't want to sleep alone."

Her eyes welled and she had to swallow back the emotion. "I'm right here with you."

His face crumpled again. "What the hell is wrong with me? I'm such a friggin pussy?"

"You're super over tired." She said, reaching out and taking his hand. "Lie back down. I'll give you a back rub." 

"No," Dean he protested. "Your back rub will have me cryin or some shit." 

"Dean." She took his face in her hands. "You came here for me to take care of you, right?"

He shook his head. 

"Then why?"

"Kept wanting to be inside you." He said softly, taking her hand off his jawline. 

"Well you could be inside any number of women a lot closer to Michigan, so you wanted me in particular."

He looked shocked at her bluntness. "Yeah." He said. 

"So listen to me. You want me to play nurse. I'm playing it now. Doctor's orders to lie down." 

He hesitated. 

"I'm not gonna leave you." She promised. 

Dean leaned over, drained part of his beer and settled back onto the mattress. 

She knelt next to him and then layed down and gathered him into her arms. He went willingly this time. "It's gonna be okay." She soothed. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

"You're awesome," he whispered. Carrie figured that was as close to _I love you_ as she was going to get. 


End file.
